Bail Organa and the No Good, Very Bad Day
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Bail Organa is taking over for Leia during her honeymoon. Winter has some unfortunate news for him. [An Identity story].


_a/n: i actually have had this little tiny bit planned as a sort of light-hearted tag, i just didn't want to mention it in case i didn't have time to do it. alas, plane rides are inspiring!_

* * *

 ** _Bail Organa and the No Good, Very Bad Day_**

* * *

Bail Organa stared dubiously down at the second drawer of his – no, his daughter's – desk, grimly contemplating his actions. He'd been occupying Leia's office for well over a week now, as he'd temporarily taken on her duties while she enjoyed an uninterrupted honeymoon.

He had agreed to do so without much thought, and without any qualms; after all, diplomacy was the Organa family business. He discovered almost immediately, however that he'd been a tad overconfident in his blithe agreement – or rather, in his blithe volunteering. He wasn't accustomed to handling her affairs – granted, he hadn't been doing it very long, and aside from one day many months ago, he'd never done it to this extent, but he'd severely underestimated how much Leia actually did in the New Republic.

It wasn't that he had thought her position inconsequential; no, he was fully aware that _his_ only daughter was one of _the_ single most important people in the new world order. It was more that he had theoretically understood the scope of her responsibilities, but stepping into her shoes for this short period had nearly sent him into cardiac arrest.

He'd been a galactic senator in the days of the decaying Old Republic and during the dangerous years of the ruthless Empire – he'd been raised to rule, and he'd functioned easily as the consort of a rather large and significant planet, but Leia was handling an entire galaxy on a daily basis and Bail was – in polite terms?

Overwhelmed.

In terms that would probably be more aptly associated with his new son-in-law: losing his goddamn mind.

It wasn't only that she dealt with a metric ton of devastating and difficult events nearly every other second – which reminded him, over and over, how large the galaxy was and how arduous political triage was – it was that she also had to field incidents that were absolutely absurd.

For example – on his second day operating her office, Bail had to answer two requests from holo-magazines: one inquiring as to whether Leia would sit for an hour long interview on what lipstick she used, and one asking if General Solo was willing to sit for a holograph spread advertising couture vests.

Bail had actually considered signing Han up for that as a joke, but his better instincts suggested that they needed to be on good terms for at least a solid, uninterrupted year before pranks were introduced – and this past year didn't count, since for half of it Bail had assumed Han was a scummy gutter rat preying on Leia with charming smirks and wily misdirection.

The bottom line was – Leia was clearly busy to the _nth_ degree, and impressively competent at it, while Bail was stoically floundering in her absence. On his fourth day in her office, he happened to discover Leia kept a stash of snacks in her second drawer: hard candy laced with caffeine, caramels high in sugary energy boosters, and protein bars with lots of calories in exotic flavors – in other words, all things _Breha_ Organa would have pitched a holy fit over if she'd known.

Bail, however, soon found they were more than necessary, and had started sneaking them, one by one, to get through the days. Blueberry-melon caffeine candy called to him with a louder voice than his precious cigars. He'd had no intention of depleting Leia's stash, and yet currently, he found himself staring at an empty drawer full of wrappers.

He wasn't worried about Leia's reaction; he could easily replenish the snack stash before she returned from Corellia. He was more concerned with his abysmal lack of self-control, and suddenly quite worried about his cholesterol. Leia was young enough to treat her body like a trash compactor when it came to sweets, calories, grease, and lipids; Bail, decidedly, was not.

Thus he was mulling over his woes and debating whether or not it was an abuse of power to ask Leia's desk girl to go buy some more sugar caramels when there was a brisk knock on the office door.

Bail slammed the candy drawer shut in a jerky movement and scooted up to the desk, clicking a button on Leia's console so the machines hummed to life. He cleared his throat.

"Yes?"

Leia's primary desk assistant came in, followed by one of the scheduling droids. Bail nodded politely at them both.

"Princess," the droid addressed him.

Bail scowled, and Leia's assistant blushed apologetically – the Viceroy, and everyone in the office, were unable to reprogram the scheduling droids to address him as Viceroy. Initially, he'd thought it was a matter of finding the correct manufacturing manual, but then Leia's speech writer had discovered it with a note inside.

The note was from Han, informing Bail he'd made sure the droids would be addressing Bail as _Princess_ no matter how they tried to override it. He'd said, in his smartass little note, that he wanted to ensure Leia's office felt like nothing had changed while she was gone.

Still scowling at the droids, Bail considered calling _Pilot Runway HoloMag_ back and telling them General Solo would gladly wear their couture vests.

He grit his teeth.

" _Ye-es_?" he repeated.

"I – well, I apologize again, sir, if Her Highness had known – I doubt she would have let General Solo do that," the assistant said, adjusting her glasses – she was a short Togruta called Tavska, and Leia said she could be trusted with anything.

Bail said nothing in response, because he had a creeping suspicion that his daughter probably had known about the droids, and let Han do it. She had a mischievous streak about as wide as a Star Destroyer and while Bail certainly didn't think it was Han's doing alone, he enhanced it.

Tavska cleared her throat, and gave the droid a look.

"The two councilors from Malastare cancelled – one of them had a family emergency, so you have a free hour after lunch," she explained, "I can leave it free, or I can bump up the rehearsal for the speech on Post-Imperial Civility and you can go home early."

Bail's expression twitched. He held his breath carefully, because he did not want to seem too eager to leave the office early – but he hadn't had dinner at a decent hour in days, and furthermore, he hadn't tended to his purely Alderaanian duties for a week, at this point.

The memorial on Yavin needed a progress update. Rouge wanted funding to train more of her young women in various trades. He needed to handle a prosecution for one of the remaining members of the Alderaanian Vengeance Brigade.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat. "You may bump up the rehearsal speech," he said.

Tavska nodded, and made a note, she then showed the holopad to the droid.

"Princess, your schedule has been updated," the droid noted.

Bail glared at it. He leaned back and rubbed his jaw, considering Tavska.

"Have you heard any word from Leia?" he asked.

"Princess Leia has not contacted me in any official capacity, Sir," Tavska answered politely.

Bail nodded.

"Yes, well, I'd hope not – I mean otherwise."

Tavska inclined her head politely, her lips compressed gently.

"I _only_ discuss Princess Leia in official capacity," she said.

Bail smiled at her – he asked sometimes only to hear her say that. She was a loyal girl – all of the women in Leia's office were fiercely loyal to her, alien or human, Alderaanian or not, and it was something Bail was proud of, because it meant Leia inspired that in them.

Most of the members of her staff were war veterans or had been spies during the unrest, and Bail harbored a slight wariness of them. He got the feeling half of them could kill him without batting an eyelid – _especially_ Leia's security. They were women, too – in fact, Leia didn't seem inclined to hire men. Not necessarily unusual, given her matriarchal upbringing – and Bail himself valued the presence of women, as he'd come from the same society.

Leia's women intimidated him more than most – these women weren't just smarter than him when it came to New Republic affairs, they were dangerous.

"Is there anything else?" Bail asked kindly.

"Well, nothing important," Tavska said brightly. She inclined her head. "I asked Careen to provide more candy for the headache Cure drawer," she said, almost wryly. "You needn't worry about replacing it yourself."

Bail looked sheepish.

"Headache – is that what it is?" he asked, feigning innocence. "Headache Cure drawer – well, I suppose it's a good thing she doesn't keep liquor in here," he joked.

Tavska inclined her head regally.

"No, sir," she said, pointing to an ornate cabinet. "That would be behind the antique encyclopedias."

Bail blinked, turning to study the cabinet. He gave Tavska an interested look, and then quietly dismissed her –

"Good day, Princess."

\- and gave one last scowl to the damn droid before getting up and approaching.

Luke had given Leia the antique encyclopedias for her birthday. They were leather bound and written in gold ink, recovered from ruins of a monarchial palace on Birren.

Bail opened the cabinet and pulled out the one with the Alderaanian rune for a Basic _X_ on it, peering around. He rose up, wondering if that really was a bottle of whiskey he saw, and was nearly startled to death at the sound of another knock on the door.

He leapt back from the cabinet, still holding the encyclopedia.

"Sir, Winter Retrac is here," Tavska called through the door. "She implies there is some urgency to her matter."

Bail rolled his eyes – how very Winter, to cagily imply that there may be some urgency – which meant either a planet had actually combusted into tiny pieces, or a thread was out of place in Leia's apartment. Winter, who was looking after Leia's apartment while she was gone, liked to annoy Bail by giving him daily updates on the state of the carpet or the air conditioning unit.

"Yes, yes – send her in; I'm still at lunch," he agreed.

He was shoving the book back in its place when his foster daughter breezed in, and she arched a blonde eyebrow and called him on it.

"That's sixty year old scotch back there; she'll go ballistic if it's been opened," Winter warned.

Bail latched the cabinet shut, frowning, returning to the desk.

"I don't believe I raised a young lady who hides liquor behind collectibles," he mumbled.

"Where else is she supposed to hide her liquor?" Winter asked seriously.

"Winter."

Winter laughed.

"Pasha, she doesn't drink it on the sly," she snorted. "That bottle is for Han's anniversary. Her office anti-stress wine is in the locked fourth drawer of the desk."

Ignoring that comment, Bail rubbed his forehead in annoyance, fixating on the anniversary comment.

"But…they just got married."

"The anniversary of when he got out of carbonite."

"Oh," muttered Bail, squinting his eyes. He shook his head, confused. "What? Why celebrate _that_?"

Winter shrugged.

"They're strange," she said fondly. "I expect Leia's going to pour most of it on him and then lick it off."

"Please get out of my office."

"This is Leia's office," Winter said matter-of-factly, taking a seat on the divan near the kaffe table, "and as it were, I need to speak with you. Are you having a nice day?"

Bail stood up, placing his hands on his – Leia's – desk warily, still scowling at Winter. He shrugged stiffly.

"It could be worse," he said narrowly.

Winter placed two holopads on the table, and two thin filmy sheets of holograph paper, glimmering with images.

"I deeply apologize for what I am about to show you, then," Winter said cheerily – and sounded not at all sorry about it.

Bail eyed her for a moment, and then sighed, his shoulders slumping. He came around the desk, adjusting a few of Leia's numerous portable comlinks as he did so, and made his way towards Winter.

"What is it?" he asked warily.

"Oh, you certainly want to be sitting down."

Bail felt a distinct sense of dread.

"Your demeanor isn't particularly morose, so I'm assuming this is something you find amusing, and I will find outrageous," he noted dryly.

"You're a very smart man, Pasha," Winter said seriously. She gestured next to her primly. "Sit."

He did, leaning forward and rubbing his jaw. He surveyed the scene on the table and sighed, tilting his head – holos, but raw copies, not tabloid, and not even reputable magazine.

"I'm showing you because you have a very sensitive history involving Leia, Han, the press, and being blindsided," Winter said neutrally, "however, I think it's best if we never, ever let Aunt Rouge find out, as I genuinely like her and she might drop dead."

Bail looked up at Winter in surprise.

"What in the nine hells is this about?" he asked – Rouge only threatened to drop dead over a handful of things, inappropriately dressed smugglers being one of them, and the other being –

 _Leia doing anything remotely salacious._

Bail gave Winter a pale look, but she was busy teasing him.

"' _Nine hells'_?" she quoted, smirking. "I can't believe Han's oaths have worn off on you – Leia's going to be so amused – now, Pasha," Winter began, as he leaned forward to gather the materials she'd laid out, "try to remember that they're on their honeymoon – "

"Winter, for God's sake, do not tell me that – "

"Someone found Han and Leia."

Bail came very close to swearing in a manner that actually would make Rouge drop dead. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, anticipating with horror what might be on these holographs, and then opened them slowly, a grim look on his face – braced for the worst.

"From what I can tell, these were taken on a private beach, so no one knows where they are actually located," Winter explained. "The chalet is in the mountains, and they would have travelled to the South side of the planet for an ocean."

Bail was tilting his head, examining the negatives – glimmering on the blue-ish film paper. The clarity wasn't very impressive – snapshots taken with a long-range lens, no doubt, but a quick touch of a facial recognition button in the technology immediately searched the intergalactic database and turned up the identification – _Leia Organa Solo._

The Viceroy blinked, jolted – he was unaccustomed to her name given like that, and he was – foolishly, perhaps – shocked it was in the systems that quickly.

He straightened up and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"What…is she…doing?" he managed faintly.

Winter had the good grace to wince, and reached for his hand, taking the photo from him.

"It's not a very clear holo, which actually lends some mystery," Winter said dryly.

Bail leaned forward to rub his forehead, agitated. There were two separate photos – one showed a man and a woman in the ocean, apparently captured after they'd been doused with a good wave. It was a faraway snapshot, but the silhouette was clear: Han was standing in waist-deep water; Leia had her legs around his waist and her lips pressed to his. He couldn't – and did not try very hard to – tell if it was a purely innocent photo or if there was – more going on.

The second was more blurred, but it did give the recognition of Leia's face, because she was sitting on the beach, just at the edge of the tide, leaning back against Han – and for once in his life, Bail was immensely relieved Han had his arms around her, because otherwise –

"It looks like she's not wearing a top," Bail said hollowly – thinking perhaps, if he said it that way, Winter would correct him – _no, Pasha, don't be silly, of course she is_ – or at least spare him, but that was obviously wishful thinking.

"That seems to be the reason the paparazzo asked the tabloid for an exorbitant amount of credits," Winter replied delicately, choosing not to tell Bail that Leia hadn't packed any bikinis that included a top.

Bail closed his eyes, gritting his teeth – the holos really weren't that explicit; in the one, only Leia's bare back was visible, never mind that it was being clawed at and mauled by that – _fiend_ – she married, and in the other, Han's arms were in the way – which left Bail struggling with whether he hated his son-in-law, or was grateful to him.

"Blast," Bail swore, his head throbbing. "These haven't been published?"

"Leia and I have eyes in most of the tabloids," Winter said smartly. "There isn't always an opportunity to prevent things, but she tries to make sure she gets wind of it early – like when that waitress from Mos Espa sold her story about her one-night stand with Han. Leia knew it was coming."

Bail scowled – yes, that had been a lovely day two months before the wedding, even though it hadn't gotten much traction, since the whole world was so obsessed with Han and Leia's romance that they actually took _un_ kindly to the waitress for sharing.

"Okay," Bail muttered, sitting up. "So, what's the game?" he asked. "Is the tabloid that has these angling for a check? Is it a payoff, or blackmail?"

"Well, Pasha – to be honest, tabloids hardly have enough clout to affect politics, so blackmail is not an issue; and they'll make more money circulating issues than you could ever pay them, unless you actually sign over all of Alderaan's coiffeurs _and_ Mama Breha's crown."

Bail looked gloomy, and Winter frowned.

"The paparazzo is the idiot," she noted. "He could have made out like a bandit if he'd taken it straight to you, but now the tabloid has paid him and he'll never see the profits of the circulation – "

"Winter, this is Leia's – her – can you not commodify her privacy?"

"I wouldn't do that," Winter retorted, affronted. "I simply have a disdain for idiocy – look, I got these from my source, and there is no indication yet of when they'll run. If they run before Leia gets back, you'll be fielding the circus, so you needed to be aware," she said frankly.

"Hmm," Bail agreed dully. He glanced through the negatives again and sat back, shaking his head. "I want to talk to the editor of the tabloid."

"It's unlikely to do any good."

"I'll appeal to his better nature."

"…He runs a tabloid."

Bail grit his teeth and scowled, resisting the urge to smack his fist into something -was it too much to ask that the galaxy leave his daughter alone? She'd more than earned time alone and away from the chaos of every day life – and furthermore, didn't the galaxy or the fates, or the Gods, have any sympathy for Bail's sanity?

How many times was he going to have to handle a Princess Leia photo scandal for the love of – ?

"I thought her whole intention was to stay in the secluded mountains," he griped. "What the hell are they doing being – ah – whatever they are _doing_ on a beach?" he demanded.

"It's their honeymoon, there's got to be a beach," Winter said logically. "As for what they're doing – you were married, Pasha."

"I do not recall my marriage involving any half-nude nonsense on a beach."

"How terribly boring for Breha."

Bail fixed a stormy look on Winter, and she leaned away, grinning apologetically, but wryly. She shrugged at the harassed look on his face – his least favorite thing to confront was lurid interest in anyone's personal life, and here it was in his face, on top of the mass of federal responsibility he was juggling.

"I spoke to Leia briefly, and warned her," Winter assured him quietly.

"What did she have to say for herself?" muttered Bail.

"She was pissed," Winter said simply, biting back a smile, "and she, ah, expressed relief that the paparazzo did not stick around for the rest of the show."

"Winter, for Sith's sake, why do you insist upon telling me more than I need to hear?"

"It brings me joy."

Bail narrowed his eyes. Winter arched a brow.

"Do you want to hear her official statement on the matter?" she asked.

"Probably not," Bail sighed, thought he nodded, and beckoned with an open palm – _let me hear it._

"Direct quote: ' _Well, what the fuck did they expect me to do on my honeymoon?'"_

Bail gave her a baleful sigh.

"Charming," he mumbled tiredly.

Winter tilted her head wryly.

"Do you want to hear _Han's_ statement?"

" _No_ ," Bail answered emphatically.

Winter closed her lips and smirked, gathering the items. Bail held up his hands.

"No, leave them – regardless of what you say, I still want a meeting with the tabloid editor," he said distastefully. "I can be – aggressively persuasive, when need be, and unfortunately I've done this before," he added dryly. "Leia may act blasé, and these may be mild and blurry, but they're private. I want her privacy protected."

Winter nodded, leaving the negatives with him – and she smiled affectionately.

Bail waited until she had retreated to fling the offending photos away and lean back on the divan, his head banging the wall, with a groan, fighting the urge to start swearing again. They couldn't leave Leia alone for one bloody second, and because of it, Bail had to be subjected to yet another traumatizing visual reminding him that Leia was _decidedly_ an adult.

He squeezed his eyes shut to block the image. After all that effort to keep their location secret, something like this – no doubt it was _Han's_ idea, going to a beach _half-naked_ –

Bail dragged himself up and trudged over to his – Leia's – desk, avoiding looking at the chrono, as he wanted to deny himself the horror of remembering it was merely lunchtime. This entire day had gone from no good – which was how his experience in Leia's office was going in general – to very bad, and his only comfort was the notion that it couldn't possibly get worse –

Until he opened up the so-called headache-cure-slash-snack-stash drawer looking for a fix only to remember all of the sweets were gone.

* * *

 _insp. by that time nasty people took photos of Kate Middleton nude sunbathing_

 _-Alexandra_

 _story #320_


End file.
